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Originals/Ep3
3 - Empty Boulevard “Marv. I’m gonna clock out early tonight.” He turns around from arranging the glasses up, perplexed. “Ah—what—''Teresa'' do you see how busy we are?...” Without any care whatsoever, she shrugs and gives him a complacent look. “I’m tired.” Too bad Marvin likes her too much to truly convince her. He sighs, waves her off like it’s nothing. “Alright—alright—fuck it, get out of here.” Teresa’s smugness turns into a smile; she shoves off out of his view, exiting out of the restaurant through the front door. Fuck this waitress gig. She says that almost every time she clocks in, but fuck it. She’s only here to have another source of income at her disposal. Most of their expenses are on Finn’s watch. She enters the driver seat of her car, unable to fathom what will become of the rest of today. Ten in the morning, while she’s free. The only thing she had on the table was getting high. But money’s pretty tight, and the house is empty right now… Gotta be somebody ailing as much as she is. But on the top of her head, she can’t think of anyone… Wait. What about that white kid she met a week ago? A friend of a friend, looking to “get in touch”. Tommy. That’s the name. Fuck yeah. She sifts through the contacts of her phone and finds a particular unnamed one. She dials, hoping for the best. A real uppity type… or maybe she’s judging too soon. The dial tone runs once, twice— “Hello.” Voice was hushed. “Hey, Tommy. This is Teresa. Remember me?” Uptown is too cold. Maybe because there were lesser mountains up here—more buildings. Maybe she’s just taking the class division into account too much. This is where all those office people work. Like a whole ‘nother world. Tommy told her to meet in front of the mall. A garage park later, and she’s already there, regretting on not wearing layers. She doesn’t even wake up this early… Tommy’s got to have some money. Working out here—hell, he probably lives here somewhere. Or was it— “Uh, Teresa?” She hears a soft voice to her side; she turns around to look at a confused white girl staring at her. Oh, right. That’s what she was forgetting. “Tommy, right?” The white girl shyly walks up to her, unable to maintain eye contact. “You—sell, right?” Teresa glares at her. “No—''no no'' I’m not a dealer… but I—know people who do.” She starts walking to the direction of the garage. “You—got money on you, right?” The more she looks at blondie here, the more she’s starting to hesitate it. She’s obviously new at this—nervous just walking by her side, even. She looks up at her and nods unsteadily. She was attractive—maybe a suburban girl working at the mall. “You—you just let me do all the talking. Just stay behind me, if anything.” The more she thinks on it, the more she remembers; she and Tommy didn’t meet directly, but through a friend she knows. “Cake” was her name, or something. Nice kid. Young white girl like her, but already deep into the hole. She hasn’t really seen her since… “What happened to your friend?” Teresa wants to show her of a dealer in this part of town, but there was no guarantee. “If it wasn’t for her we wouldn’t be here together.” Rich girls looking to mix in with the bad stuff are a rare breed—she ought to thank Cake for bringing Tommy here to her. “I—haven’t really heard from her in a month.” A month. She just saw Cake a week ago. Where is that kid… “Damn.” Tommy still hasn’t quite warmed up to her, but the fact that she hasn’t ran away tells her something. Is she a narc? A really young narc… the Bureau is into more daring shit these days— And yet, this girl reminds her of her when she was in high school. The signs of it all… Good thing the distribution out here is pretty discrete. Fadesh is a professional like that, after all. The two reach a particular spot—a quiet block of commercial buildings and the logo of a business right behind them. She can still hear the hummings of busy city life—only an echo in this block. Teresa stands silently at this spot—two feet from the sign, like he says—and waits, forcing Tommy behind her to do the same. Tommy, oh Tommy. What are you doing with your life, standing with a Mexican lady you’ve never met before?... A gentleman in standard, dark-blue work clothes appears from where the street ends, seemingly passing into their direction. Teresa maintains her inconspicuous presence through casual standing, her right hand subtly reaching for the money Tommy gave her. The stranger, his stare hard to tell through the shades he wears, walks past Teresa with sleight of hand and continues down the path. Fadesh, you cautious fucker you. Teresa continues to play it off while the man disappears into the next block. She gives Tommy a smirked glance and starts walking to the opposite direction. Good thing she packs a kit on the go here. It was surprising to see Tommy so eager to try it—and she showed it all through eyes alone. Teresa felt sorry for her a second there… “Lemme see your veins, kid—” Out of courtesy, Teresa is letting Tommy take the first hit. She’s practically a fucking charity worker here, but Tommy is too adorable not to sympathize with. There’s something about clueless suburban white girls that appeals to her… it’s their very curiosity that forces her to school them. Oh, and the free money, too. Tommy lays her bare left forearm out, her hand balled up into a tightening fist. Teresa, holding the already-cooked syringe with her mouth, presses on a few spots of her pale skin, hoping for the best. A few glances at Tommy shows her focus—her eagerness for the needle hit. She had better find that vein, and find it soon. She’s no doctor. Finding a vein is an acquired skill—and she hasn’t quite got it. She pins her beliefs onto the streak just above the middle of Tommy’s arm, holding it steady and puncturing it with the syringe. Her arm relaxes. Her eyes dim. A sweet spot, indeed. Teresa shoots the rest and lets Tommy lie back on her seat Fadesh’s stuff is always good—whenever she has the money. And boy, oh boy, did Tommy have it… Tommy deeply exhales while her eyes seal completely shut. Teresa starts to prepare her own batch when she hears her say something in—another language. French, if she’s hearing it correctly. No matter. Tommy’s reached the plane. She’s revealing more to her now than she did when they met. “Uh—sh—she’ll have pancakes and—some coffee. Thanks.” It took a while—exactly how long, Teresa doesn’t know—for their high to subside. Teresa’s insisted on filling their stomachs with food—and some well-needed energy for the rest of the day. It was only five in the afternoon and there’s still so much to be done. She gives her new shooting partner here an observant stare, while the girl herself gives in to looking away after five minutes of half-assed eye contact. “Yeah—I know. I don’t wanna be your baby sitter either, but you look like you could use it.” Teresa means every word; the more she looks at this girl the more she sees displaced youth. She was already skinny, but she hasn’t displayed any signs of sickness just yet. “Comes with the partnership. I’m just looking out for you here…” So what’s happening, Tommy? Why are you here with a person you just met today, shooting dope then getting dinner afterwards? You look like you should still be in high school, going home to your mom, dad, and little dog named Buddy. She wants to say all of that, but instead… she chooses to observe the diner they were in. Empty, save for a few other people eating and minding their own business. Dead air—and a good time as any. “I don’t wanna pry, Tommy—I don’t. But—I can see us two being in this for quite a while…” She knows Tommy is ailing. She’d have been gone by now if she wasn’t. “… what’s going on?” She heard her speak French. How’s she carrying that much money around?... “What are you still doing here? With me? I don’t—wanna feel like I’m kidnapping you or something…” Tommy returns to looking at her with feebleness, still unable to muster complete sentences nor make sense of this situation. The waitress appears to their tableside, handing a breakfast platter to Teresa, and an empty mug to Tommy. Promptly, she fills the cup with coffee. “What’re you two—some sort of classmates? Study buddies…” Teresa looks up at her with a polite smile and a chuckle. “Got a young one down at BCC myself. Hey—your pancakes are comin’ up next.” She smiles pleasantly and walks away. Teresa’s smile dissolves as she turns back to Tommy, taking a sip of her own coffee while at it. “Like I said. I don’t wanna scare you off. I just wanna know who I’m dealing with better here.” She looks down at her plate, takes a half-bite of a piece of bacon. “Tell me what you need to tell me. I’m listening.” Tommy, giving her coffee a deadbeat stare, turns away from it and looks up at Teresa. “I was… an exchange student here. Davis. From—Quebec, originally.” The waitress practically slips her plate of pancakes unnoticed. “I… was promised a student worker visa but… they took me somewhere else. Completely.” She puts her plate aside and instead puts her sleeve-hidden hands on the table. “I don’t know where—I went. I just know it’s not Davis anymore.” There was no fear in her look. No sadness. Just pain, and honesty. “I—I arrive here from—from running away. Met a man, gave me money. He wants me to stay with him. More money. And—and now I’m here—” Her eyes haze up in liquid, but nothing falls. Teresa thinks on it for a second, looking at her lukewarm plate. “Do you—have anywhere else to stay?” She shakes her head. “Just—a couple of people I barely know. And him.” Teresa looks at the fork beside Tommy’s hands, takes it and hands it to her. “Do you wanna go back there?” She puts Tommy’s plate up closer, then she herself takes her utensils and starts to eat. Looking down, she shakes her head. Money seems like it’s going to be tight from this point on. They have to spread it around just enough to stretch their ration up. Tommy’s revealed that she only has five-hundred left. What the hell did she do with that man to have this much pocket money? The more she looks at her, the more she wants to ask her this question. But she knows Tommy doesn’t want to talk about it… “Hello—love?” Teresa has decided to call the next best person for their night to continue. It was only six—plenty of time for them to still be walking out here in this area. “Yeah—anyone you know sellin’ tonight?” “It’s late, Teresa—” “Yeah, yeah—but I got somebody here with me who’s looking to buy.” She hears him sigh on the other end. “Is she loaded?” “Nope.” “Well—I know Deeno’s in. So is Tomoko—Vlad… Scar, too. But they’re ‘bout to close shop, so get there fast—” Yes. Looks like their night is not over yet. “Could you copp five extra from Scar? Just mention my name.” “Absolutely, my love.” “Don’t take it all—leave some for me, at least. Might see me roll by, too—” Teresa shares a smile to Tommy. “Love you mucho, Finn.” “Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles. “Love you too.” Teresa puts her phone away in triumph, spreads her excitement to Tommy by facing her and walking backwards. “We might only have to spend a hundred tonight.” She leaps closer toward to her and puts an arm around her shoulder. “Might as well save whatever you got left. You—don’t mind doing a bit walking, right?” They were already in the area—just need to stop from block to block. “And a bit of jogging…?” Whatever it was, Tommy looked to be up for anything. Teresa starts to shuffle in place as they reach the intersection of this sidewalk. “Let’s go!” He liked Deeno the least. According to Finn he’s actually Italian, but not involved in anything. Just street dealing. Finn’s still suspicious, though. “Teresa, mama-sita—ey—and who is this white girl witchu?” Honestly, Deeno can easily pass for a cholo—probably why he’s still standing here. The two ladies receive a few cat calls from his buddies backing him up, too. “Deens. Finn tell you I’m passin’ by?” Deeno looks behind his two fellow boys and nods. “Five-for-five deal, for you Terese—” He playfully winks and blows a kiss at her. She puts on a half-assed smile to keep the spirits up and hands him the five. “Ey white girl, you can get a discount too if you pass by here again…” Tommy shares her deadeye stare to them as Deeno hands the vials to Teresa. “Oh, shit…” That seems to put them in their place; Deeno shares a look with his boys, their playful stares exchanged for that of regret. “Good shit,” Teresa whispers to her. Staying true to the neighborhood complaints she received, Tomoko has relocated two streets down from her original spot. She’s closer to a convenience store now, it seems, forcing the duo to walk further down and lose more daylight. Her set-up seems to look the same, though; Tomoko stands alone, but has a back-up watching her from a parked car. “Hey Teresa.” She pulls her hood down just for her. “And, hey uh—” “Tommy. She’s buying.” Tommy politely hands her the money and receives a handful of vials in exchange. “Another victim huh, Terese?” The two exchange a smile. “So what’s your story, Tommy?” “Just wanna forget,” Teresa speaks for her. “That’s all, Momo.” Tomoko scans her up and down a little more. “Hey—if—you’re looking for work. I could use another person standing in with me. Pay you in vials.” Tommy and Teresa share a look—Teresa looks to be on board with it. “Cory’s on parole. Only got Doug looking out for me.” They make sure not to look where he could be coming from; he tends to park between other cars. “So is that why you don’t have your hair dyed?...” Teresa asks, and Tomoko chuckles. “Seriously though, how are you?” Momo’s one to express herself through wardrobe and appearance—something they don’t mention in real-time. She looks pretty plain today. “Been better, y’know.” “Is Vlad close by around here?” Tomoko shrugs. “Didn’t see him today.” “Yeah. And it’s getting dark…” Teresa glances at Tommy first, then Tomoko. “Take care of yourself, Momo.” “''You'' take care of yourself, Terese. And tell Finn I said ‘things are good’.” Everything she’s heard about Scar, she heard from Finn. The oldest, most organized, and most serious. That explains why they’re taking a bit long arriving in his corner. Dante Court. All of Finn’s routes pass by here. There seems to be a decent amount of activity going in and out of the street—some people probably walking home, some buying. From where they walk, they can make out a few cars—and six people crewed up in the corner itself. “Stay close to me,” Teresa advises Tommy beside her. The more they get deeper, the more they pass by sicker people. Scar must’ve been carrying something good… Soon enough, a man makes himself stand out among the rest, boasting a varsity jacket and shouting the name of their product in uneven intervals. He’s surrounded by three others. Teresa musters what courage she could and walks up close to him. She coughs. “Scar.” The man, just about to shout, “AC Climax,” shifts his attention to her and her partner. “Teresa. Yeah. That you, right?” He offers her a handshake, to which she semi-hesitantly returns. “Yeah. Yeah… Finnigan told me you goin’ be droppin’ by.” “Y-yeah…” “Finally good to meet the lady in person.” The man to his left approaches and hands him a small ziplock bag. Teresa nearly forgets to ask for the money, causing Tommy to fumble for it. She receives two fifty-dollar bills and hands them to him with no further word. He smiles pleasantly and exchanges the dollars for the bag. “Thank you ladies.” He stuffs one bill down and takes two others out, handing Teresa seventy back. “Everything’s there. Even Finn’s.” Though he’s displayed more manners than Deeno, Teresa still can’t get rid of the fear weighing in on her. Finn really wasn’t kidding. “Y’all ladies be careful, now. Don’t stay out too long.” Teresa forces a smile, chooses to walk away and pulling Tommy with her without further words. “It’s easy. Just stroll to see what you like… and then pick one.” Huntington Row. Where the best of the shooting galleries are located. They’re abandoned houses mostly—some actually reside here—hot spots for having a place to shoot up. Patrols always go here but the frequenters have proven resilient in returning; row also acts as homeless housing, after all. Teresa and Tommy pass by each house, deciding which looks best. They all do, to be honest—you can do anything in these houses. Be who you want to be. And that’s why they’re choosing; in some of them you never know what you’re going to find. They seemed to have reached peak hours; usually at this time, people are looking for a place to bundle up for the night and get to the next day. That’s why each house they’ve passed by has at least some form of activity. Also explains the mixed smell of urine and smoke in the air. “This is where I met Cake,” Teresa says, getting a few stares from the people that inhabit this place. They should know her, though—this tends to be her go-to when they have more than enough to shoot up. No muss, no fuss. And no guilt in the household, neither. They pass by what seems like a normal house party from the inside and find an empty one next to it. Well, at least it looks empty from the outside. “Yeah.” She nods at Tommy to go first. Ah, quiet. But they weren’t the only ones here. The two are met with tired eyes upon opening the door, but they all seem to want the same; peace, silence, and no share. The place was lit with candles, and a horrid stench overtakes them a few steps in. They both cover their noses, while Teresa takes Tommy’s hand and walks her through the darkness. They find a non-occupied room—what looks like a single bedroom—and seal themselves from the tenants in haste and eagerness. Kind enough that someone lit a candle for them here, but the moonlight from outside accounts for much of the light. The two make themselves comfortable. Teresa fervently takes a few baggies out from her ziplock, but a knock on the door forces her to pause. “Ay y’all—ca—can I copp one?” She couldn’t see him in the darkness; only his eyes. “I—I hold one for y’all now, bring two back tomorrow if y’all return—” “Close the fucking door,” Teresa interrupts—more irritated than angry. “Please I—” “I said close the fucking door—” She stares him down cold-bloodedly, and he does what she asks. She turns to look at Tommy and asks, “You alright?” The fear is all in her eyes, and her silence reinforces it. She sighs. “Roll up your sleeve.” Through the natural light, Teresa looks through the baggie in her two fingers and flicks it. This is quality. It came from a mixed bag, so she thanks all three of them. From the inside of her jacket, she takes out a syringe and spoon. Gonna have to risk one needle, and the flame’ll be from that candle. This can’t wait. “You’re money’s right Tom,” she tells her. If only she had more—they’d be set for months. “Money’s right…” Tommy exchanges looks between her and the baggie, the sleeve of her left arm already rolled up. Teresa crouches lightly to take the lone candle in the room, then scoots over to Tommy close. “You don’t happen to have a lighter, do you?” Tommy is too focused on the raw to answer, so she lets it pass. “You and me, kiddo…” Teresa carefully pours the crystals into the spoon in close examination. “We’re going places.” Minutes turn to hours. Hours to days. Through two weeks, Teresa and Tommy’s ration has dwindled to two baggies. Teresa can’t seem to fathom how they lost them all so quick, and yet—they bought more in between days—it’s something she already knows the answer to. Tommy’s chosen to never leave her side, crashing with her at their place—once, she actually vanished but returned with fifty dollars. They used that money more for food, clothes, and toiletries than a fix… Twice in those two weeks did Tommy reveal more about herself. Her nickname came from the man she met in the university she attended; the same man who tricked her and caused her to end up here, in a city she barely knows. She seems to be speaking more now—and it took all this long for Teresa to identify that she had an accent. The more she talks, the more Teresa wants to know. She can’t keep this girl forever… “You sick of Huntington yet?” The two currently watch the row in its entirety, in the afternoon this time. It’s been getting more difficult to find some privacy, but really, that’s something they should’ve expected in a public place like this. That, and the patrols need to intervene and clean up again… The two look at each other and right away share the same sentiment. “I know…” It was Teresa and Finn’s special spot, but… this kid deserves it. Maybe because she might need to say goodbye to her soon… maybe not. It’s southward, where much of Teresa’s people reside. No, not that far down. They pull up to a vacant property, one with a two-story building picked off for renovation. But don’t believe how it looks on the outside; this building is empty, its lease’s future unforeseeable. It’s remained empty since Teresa and Finn graduated high school. “It’s not haunted,” Teresa reassures, parking their car half a street away and carrying a backpack with her. “It just looks like that on the outside. C’mon.” They used to like going here frequently. She and Finn. It… gets painful sometimes. But enough about that. Maybe bringing in a new person will change things. Teresa pushes the flimsy wooden board aside, revealing a door behind it. She turns the knob, pushes, and is met with darkness. She blindly feels for an object to the door’s side, and recovers a flashlight. “Bingo.” Teresa starts trekking into the darkness, attempting to open the device and only getting flickers of light in return. “Shit…” She knows where to go, but it’s been long enough for her to doubt her sense of direction. Stupid switch flashlights. “Tommy could you…” Tommy, like it’s her second nature, reaches into her backpack and takes a maglight out. She winds it open and hands it to Teresa. “You’re the beans.” She lights their path ahead, making sure to take a right and finding a two-door entrance. “Things might be dusty in here…” The entrance leads them into what looks to be a small room—an empty store section. Teresa feels the wall to her right and hits a switch. Room lights flicker open. “Viola.” The room was empty—for the most part—save for two beanbag chairs, curtains that cover the display windows, a flower vase, and a mini-boom box. Tommy couldn’t help but smile—Teresa is hit with nostalgia. The two face each other—briefly—until Teresa runs up to a bean bag and jumps on it. Dust puffs out from the chair and the ground, causing her to cough. But dammit, was it as soft as she remembers it to be. Tommy approaches her and timidly seats on the beanbag next to her. Teresa right away starts to prepare the syringe—now with proper tools. “Today’s… Saturday, right?” She flicks the baggie in familiar fashion, handing the ever-eager Tommy the spoon. Through it, she sees her nod. “I think I—got something…” Tommy assists her by laying the spoon out for Teresa to pour the crystals in. “Nah—” Teresa refocuses on the spoon, warming it up with a lighter underneath. “I’m really forgetting—” She waits for the crystals to melt into dark-brown matter—taking out a syringe and a soaked cotton ball while at it. “Whatever the fuck…” The crystals have liquefied; she puts the soaked cotton ball on it, sticks the syringe on top and seeps its contents out. “… it was.” The cotton ball dissolves into a brown-black fluff; the needle is now filled with a yellowish substance. Tommy prepares her left arm—more reddish now from the usual pale, small specks of needle-point holes nearly covering the midsection. The two make eye-contact for a moment, until Teresa chooses her vein. She thumbs the spot above her arm’s midsection, gently sticks the needle in and lets the substance flow in like water. Tommy’s tenseness gives in to the blast—she limbers down and becomes consumed by her beanbag, exhaling heavily while at it. Teresa notices a bit of saliva flowing from her mouth and promptly wipes it. What did you forget, Teresa? She prepares her own blast, willing and able to repeat the process. This girl is her daughter—she needs to look out for her until she decides to leave on her ow… Daughter. Shit. She’s supposed to meet with her mother today. “Shit—yeah, I know i—it’s short notice… but I won’t be gone long.” There was something charming about seeing a knocked-out white girl in the back seat, while a confused Asian woman and her bulky white companion sit up front. Teresa distressingly looks left and right for any oncoming traffic; there was none at the moment. “Is—Finn not really answering?” Tomoko glances at Doug beside her, removing her perplexed state temporarily. “Naw… he left us on our own today. Thought he was with y—''look'', what’s the emergency anyway?” Teresa exhales, gives Tommy a few more glances. “I’m… visiting my mom.” Tomoko silently “oh”’s, while Doug looks more miffed than before. “I—haven’t seen her in a week. I… regularly visit her. Nobody else does... don’t want her to worry.” Tomoko glares at her briefly. “Well you don’t look okay. She’s probably gonna worry even more…” Teresa wants to say “fuck you” so bad, but there are other things to worry about right now. “Here—” Instead, she snatches whatever bills she can from her pockets and pushes it onto her. “That’s all I got on me right now…” Tomoko unfurls the crumpled bills. “… twenty bucks?” Teresa grows more frustrated, as displayed in her shuffling and louder breathing. “Okay—okay…” Tomoko nods at Doug, glances at the overhead mirror for the slumbering princess. “Dammit, Teresa… she better stays lifted until you get back. Here…” She hands the bills back to her. “I’m not doing this because I know Finn.” Teresa’s distressed expression withers. “I’m doing this ‘cos you’re responsible…” She shares a brief look with Doug and turns back to her. “And because I love you.” “Si, si… no hay problema. We can meet there. I will drive.” She was settled for a nice dinner at her home. Teresa was sure. But—she didn’t want the food to get cold while she tries to look normal for her. It takes an hour, two at most… Stupid, for making her fucking wait this long all the time. For making her get out of the house, for making her always twist her expectations of her… and yet, she hasn’t rejected any of her requests. Teresa’s mother is a saint. She doesn’t deserve her. Dos Flamencos. It’s the closest bar to her apartment—maybe a five-minute drive for her mother, at most. It’s okay. She’d probably rather have drinks than dinner, anyway. She had many siblings, but Teresa’s the only one who lives in the same city. She figured it was worth it for her mother to keep seeing her daughter after high school. After a year into her addiction. She knows she’s obscenely late, so Teresa parks as fast as she could and shuffles to the bar. Nothing much she could do about a few new scab on her cheek—nor the unfathomable guilt she carries with her day and night—so she only insists on wearing lipstick, eyeliner, and a different kind of hairstyle for tonight. She looks around for where her mother possibly could be—or if she’s already here at all—trying her best to ignore the migraine-inducing reggaeton and claustrophobia around her. Her. That’s her. Unsurprisingly one of the handful of older women in this bar tonight. Teresa scoots past a few crowded tables, dodges a few waitresses, and reaches her mother in her very own table. There was a tall pina colada glass she was already drinking. “Teresitá.” She caresses her daughter’s cheek with a warm smile while Teresa attempts to scoot closer to her. Giddy, she takes a sip of her drink and gives her daughter a good look. “''Ay mija'', what’s with the lack of make-up?” She turns her daughter’s face left and right to examine every contour—but she doesn’t brush her hair aside. Her lack of further statements tells Teresa what she knows. “''Como estás, Teresíta?” Teresa unstraps her shoulder bag aside, catches a waitress’s attention and asks for a beer. “Good, mami. Just—fine.” “How’s your job been?” ''Oh, right. She has a waitress job. Fuck… she’s probably missed three shifts in the past week already. “Mmm… good.” “''Si?” Of course, ''mama can’t carry on her day without one of her sarcastic si’s. Teresa rolls her eyes and nods. “That’s good dear…” The waitress drops by a glass of beer, to which Teresa drinks right away. “What did I say about alcoholic beverages? Why didn’t you get juice?” Teresa chuckles, while her mom just smiles. “Nice choice of bar, by the way… I hear the Hermanos are playing here tonight.” Hermanos Robledos? Oh, no… Teresa pretends to be disgusted. “I thought narcocorridos went out of style ages ago…” Her mother gives her a snooty shake of her head and directs her attention to the stage while at it. “That shit is big out here in America. They have the freedom to write and sing it.” The stage—small and lit with pink spotlights—was empty at the moment. Fortunate for them. “Will you stay for them, maybe?...” Teresa playfully contemplates it, bobbing her head and waving her arms a bit. “Ehh—''no''. Sorry mama.” “Thought so…” Her mother reduces the pina colada to less than half by now. “Oh—hey. I forgot something.” She turns to the oversized purse next to her and takes out a plastic container. “''Tamales'' for dinner. Just in case you didn’t eat—” Teresa receives it with a bit of surprise and stuffs it into her bag. “''Gracias, mama''.” “''Si, si''... Twenty-three and you’re still skin and bones. Where did I go wrong…? You need to visit more.” She manages to earn another chuckle from Teresa. “You did nothing wrong. And I try.” She smiles, turns to look frontward. The reggaeton is fortunately preceded by a disco beat with Spanish lyrics, causing a few of the patrons tonight to start dancing. The mother and daughter decide to watch for a bit, mostly in silence. “Teresa.” Her tone has become more flat. Her daughter looks at her. She turns back to her purse briefly and takes out a card, hands it to her. “I know her through one of my old co-workers. She is a niece.” 372-9919. Marissa “She—is in the social services field. She helps people—often for free—” No, no no no. Not this again. “You should call her—I talked to her. She is a pleasant girl…” Teresa could only answer with silence. “… she helps—all kinds of people. I—” “Mama.” She stops talking, looking at the card. She turns to her. “It’s okay.” It hurts when she pushes help onto her. She knows everything she’s done wrong—she reminds herself of it every day—and the fact that her mother’s resorted to pleading with her… Teresa takes a drink of her beer and puts the card aside. “I’ll seek help when I’m ready—” “But you’ve been ready three years ago—” This makes Teresa look at her. “—and I have been ready, too. I am still waiting. I will always be waiting.” She brushes her daughter’s hair aside, examines her face yet again. She has said this to his, over—and over—and over again for the past three years. And yet it still stings like the first time. More candles. Cleaner floor to sit on. A small kit, ready for use. Someone cared about this room. Teresa and Tommy have found themselves in the same shooting gallery as the first time—she was unable to drive, and therefore find a better alternative. They had to settle. It also helps that Teresa’s already numbed out before even getting here. Prescription pills help when she most needs it. Probably why there was something more appealing about this place than last time… Tomoko said she behaved. She didn’t even realize she left Tommy to them for two days... but all she really did was help her sell. Even came back with a grand and a few vials in her pockets. “You need to tell me everything the next time I leave you, okay?...” Teresa struggles to prepare Tommy’s syringe, taking a few extra moments in each step. Tommy is unable to keep her eyes open, despite her biting on the belt that tightens her left arm. Probably got a free handout or two from Tomoko beforehand… The warm, candle-lit presence of the room combined with the moonlight was making Teresa more drowsy than eager. But when she sees the crystals dissolve into caramel, she ticks up. She places the soaked cotton ball on top of it, pinches it with the needle and extracts the mixture. Looks like Tommy awakens from her own slumber in seeing it, too. Teresa runs the needle’s tube through the candle lights, flicks it a few times. “One of these days, Tommy…—” She takes her bruised-up forearm and prepares to puncture a vein. “—I should go first.” Through dim eyes, Tommy looks at her and smiles. No worry in the world. No problems. She pushes the syringe gently and sends Tommy into a dreamy trance. The strap from her mouth drops, as she herself drops against the wall she leans in. Loud exhales. Saliva escaping the side of her lips. Teresa wipes it off with her thumb, looks down with a smile. “You know what I love about America, Tom?” She slips her hand into her pocket, carelessly taking out a crystalline baggie. A piece of paper falls out with it. “It’s that people get to sell us this stuff without political corruption…” She notices the paper when she takes the baggie. “… and we get medical coverage, too. For free.” It’s the number. Marissa’s number. She chuckles. “Should I call her, Tommy?” She slips the paper back inside, refocuses on the baggie and the cook she still has to make. The lighter, close to Tommy’s lap, makes her look at her. “Should I—” Foam seeps out of Tommy’s mouth. Her chest pulsates violently. “No—no no no—” Teresa shuffles from her spot and wraps her arms around the girl in an attempt to carry her—but her struggle causes her to stumble back. “Fuck, fuck—” Teresa leaps and runs for the front door; she loses her footing mid-step and jolts head-first into the wall next to it. She lies on her back, receives a soft sting in her forehead. She closes her left eye as a speck of blood runs down on it. In the dimness of her vision, she could see Tommy convulsing in place, her mouth overtaken by white. She whimpers in pain, but nothing comes out. It’s not her we’re talking about right now. It’s you. You’re here for you, not for her. “… nobody’s pressing charges on anyone. As far as I can tell, Tommy’s going back into the system…” Exhausted. Remorseful. Sick. Exhausted, or consumed in despair—at this point, she couldn’t quite tell. Teresa catatonically sits, while a lady about her age speaks in front of her, shuffling paper after paper on the side. Bandages stood out from the side of her forehead. “Teresa.” She stops what she’s doing for a second, sits down in her desk chair and nudges Teresa’s arm. She doesn’t budge; only her eyes move. “You need anything to eat?” She returns to looking away. The lady before her sighs and resumes her work. Room was cramped. It wasn’t entirely large to begin with, but the mounds of documents stacked in corners, cabinets, and the table strangle it even further. She’s tried to decorate a bit with some obscure paintings and a flower vase or two, but to no avail. The lady of this office seems to be as small as the space. “... I’m not here for me.” Teresa slightly trudges in her seat. “I’m here for Tommy.” The lady takes a moment, adds the last of her paperwork to the pseudo-cityscape and decides to sit down. “I’m just trying to do what Mrs. Alarcón advised me to do. She told me how you would resist.” “This isn’t about me right now. Tommy needs help.” Teresa’s eyes redden; a rogue tear falls from her eye. “I owe her that much I—I took advantage of that girl—” Her voice trembles. She falters into heavy weeps. The lady before her stares in silence—she walks around her desk, kneels in level of the weeping siren and puts her arms around her gently. “Shhhh—Teresa…” “I took advantage of her—” she whimpers. “—she doesn’t deserve me. I took advantage of her…” “Teresa...” She returns to her desk, takes a bottle of water and a lone napkin from it. “Do you want to see her?” Items in hand, she waits for her. Teresa’s wails die down, replaces them with sniffles. “''We can'',” she reassures her. “If you’re up for it. I’ll drive us there.” She didn’t look any different even in a hospital bed. Tommy was still pale. Still blonde. Still quiet. Only unlike before, she’s resting now. The two weren’t allowed to enter, though Marissa was pulled aside by the nurse processing her. Teresa couldn’t be in the same room—not for legal purposes, but because she couldn’t stand it. Instead, she chooses to wait outside of the hospital, sitting at a bench near the entrance. Nose still blushed, eyes still reddened, she looks on at the distance, occasionally sniffling on the crumpled napkin she clutches. She doesn’t want to be here. Nowhere near a hospital. Nowhere close to a person like Marissa. But it’s not her choice right now. She’s here for Tommy. “Hey—” Marissa appears from the entrance, circling the bench and handing her a cup of coffee. “Croissant or éclair?” After receiving the cup, Marissa sees her holding up two pastries. She looks away, answers with, “Don’t care.” Marissa decides to sit next to her, handing her the croissant. “Torginn Deiss. That’s her name.” Teresa takes a sip of the coffee and turns to her. Marissa is currently taking a folder out of her bag. “Seventeen—eighteen in a month or two. Born in Troi-Rivierés, decided to go to college in California. Went missing when she was a sophomore. Documentation’s gone after that…” Her stomach turns. Teresa hands the croissant back to her. “I don’t want it anymore.” She subdues the gagging in her throat, drowning it out with the hotness of the coffee. “Look—Teresa… she’s not entirely in my hands. I’ll help with the paperwork, but ultimately she’ll end up getting processed by the system... and it might not even be out here. She might get—shipped off to another state. “''And that’s not my job''. I can only do so much but… it’s not in my hands. I’m here to help you, Teresa. I specialize in people like you.” Teresa struggles to even look at her. Coffee isn’t even hot enough anymore. “Your mother put in a good word. I—I actually remember her, as a kid… we had a few pictures, you and me.” She looks at her, finds her to be staring at her the whole time. “''Yeah''. Gregor Camacho is my tio. Do you remember him?” Teresa shakes her head. “''Look''—I really, really want to help you Teresa. Your mom’s been concerned about you for three years—” Teresa shows discomfort in looking away from her in haste, and nervously shaking her leg. “Teresa just—tell me what you need to tell me. I’m listening.” Teresa thinks on it with silence for a few moments. She stands up, looks down at her. “Thanks for everything, Marissa.” She turns the other way and starts walking briskly. Category:Originals (story) Category:Originals (story) Episodes Category:Issues Category:Dead Awakened